Noncommittal
by swaggersaur
Summary: He swears she's flirting with him, but the way her mouth turns up into a gentle smile and the childish way she tilts her head makes him wonder. Maybe he looks too serious. Maybe he should have gone with the bunnies. / FTM Transgendered Quinn AU. Faberry.


_**A.N.** AU where Quinn is an FTM transman, single father of Beth. Read and Review!_

* * *

**Mr. Noncommittal**

* * *

He decides it was a great idea to wear the dress shirt instead.

It was an internal struggle, choosing between a loud sweater with cartoon bunnies stitched across the front and a freshly pressed white button up, but he went with the latter, and sitting in the seat of the classroom, staring at the gorgeous teacher smiling and passing out papers of her classroom rules, he thinks he made the right decision. He stays sitting when the other parents pour out of the classroom at the end of the hour. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he slaps himself over and over again until he manages to stand up.

"I'm guessing you are Mr. Fabray?" She says when he approaches her.

"You guess correctly. Quinn Fabray." He coughs, placing a hand down on the table.

"Hm, yes. I could tell. You have your daughter's eyes."

He swears she's flirting with him, but the way her mouth turns up into a gentle smile and the childish way she tilts her head makes him wonder. Maybe he looks too serious. Maybe he should have gone with the bunnies. He mentally scolds himself for considering wearing a badly sewn sweater to catch the attention of the teacher he's supposed to be questioning.

"Ah, thank you, Ms. Rachel Berry. So I noticed my daughter wasn't doing very well in this class?"

Play it_ smooth_, he thinks, keep it sexy and relatable, although the subject at hand isn't anything necessarily sexy or relatable at all, really. He couldn't give less of a damn about "Theater Throughout The Ages" if he tried.

"Well, she's a smart student. Very clever, that one, but I'm afraid she doesn't possess the… drive?"

"She's not really into the intellectual side of things." He sighs, "It's something I've been trying to work on."

"And why is that?" She asks, putting the papers in her hands down. Progress.

"She's heavy into the arts. I'm partially to blame for that. I'm actually an animator."

"An animator! How interesting. It must be quite the job."

"It's alright. Not the best pay, though. I take on a few cases as a defense attorney on the side."

She laughs and quickly stifles it, but he wishes she didn't. The way her eyes crescent when she smiles inspires him and he finds his hands aching for a pen or a pencil or anything to capture her every detail on paper. She laughs one more time at his nervous fingers tapping the table and he gets lost in the sound. Embarrassment at his nervousness is one thing to deal with, but he doesn't feel the urge to draw anymore. It'd be impossible to try to capture her on something as bland as paper.

Maybe she could be thought of as bland, he thinks. After all, that's what his daughter complains about. "Miss Berry" this and "Miss Berry" that, and every single detail she rambles on about reflects something negative about her. She's dull, his daughter whines, she's depressing and an absolute bore. But staring at the beautiful girl in front of him, he feels something magnetic about her and he wonders why this said "dull" woman emanates such a compelling air.

He wants to get to know her.

"That's funny. You're a funny man. Most people would say being an attorney is their job and the animating is their hobby." She muses.

"No sense in lying." He grins, "And plus, I've always been told to take a job doing something I enjoy. And I enjoy animating. I'd drop the attorney gig if I could but it helps pay the bills."

"I'm sure your father is somewhere turning in his grave knowing the college tuition he helped pay is being used very sparingly."

"Except I got into Yale on a scholarship." It's easy to speak comfortably around this woman, "Someone could videotape you murdering a student and I could still get you acquitted."

"My, my, we've got a modern day Cochran here, don't we?"

"Hm, quite."

He's leaning forward over the table now and he realizes she's doing the same.

"And if you're so good, why the animating?"

"It's something I like. My father was crazy about the whole lawyer thing but I guess once I graduated, I realized I'd rather make a fourth of what I'd make as a lawyer doing something I genuinely enjoy. If I didn't have a daughter to take care of, I'd drop the lawyer thing altogether."

"And the wife."

"Hm?"

"I mean, I'm assuming you take care of your wife as well."

"Oh, of course."

He catches the corners of her lips drop for a split second and he wonders if he's imagined it.

"I mean, if I had one."

"Oh?"

"Single dad. I've been caring for Beth since her birth, actually."

There's a soft smile on her face when he talks and he hopes she's not thinking too badly about him.

"Baby momma's out of the picture?"

"Ha, something like that. And how's your boyfriend doing?"

"Don't have one." She smiles, leaning back.

"I was hoping you'd say that." He grins.

"Had a feeling." She winks, and he feels a little lighter.

And that's when he falls in love.

* * *

"Dad, why are you all dressed up for?"

Beth looks up from her position on the couch with an eyebrow raised and one leg draped around the sofa cushions. He pats her on the head before returning his focus to his tie, although he's got the coordination of someone suffering from hypothermia. His daughter rolls her eyes and averts her attention from the television to his tie.

"You are _so_ lucky I'm good at this." She sighs, grabbing the sides of the tie and tying it taut around his neck.

"Well, that's why I keep you around, kid." He grins, turning to the television. "Is that pig wearing a tutu?"

"TLC. Don't think too much of it." Beth mutters. "It's not supposed to make sense."

"Whatever you say."

"Now tell me where you're going."

"Well, you're getting inquisitive. You finally interested in your old man's life?"He jokes.

"Hey now. I'm not that bad of a daughter. Geez, Dad. Plus, you're not wearing your lawyer suit. You're wearing your date suit. So spill."

"God, women are so infuriating. I thought I left that life behind."

"Ha ha, very funny Dad. Now tell me."

"Can't."

"Tell me."

"Can't."

"Tell me!"

"Can't!"

He laughs all the way to the front door, his daughter yelling from the couch and his dog weaving between his legs, threatening to trip him with every step. Closing the door on his daughter's shouted question, he chuckles under his breath. It's going to be Guantanamo Bay when he gets back; when his daughter is curious and _not_ currently occupied by reality television, she can be a real effective interrogator. He winces when he remembers the last time he kept a secret from her. He still has the post traumatic response to milk to prove it.

* * *

Neither of them takes it too seriously at first. They've both gone through plenty of sour relationships to know how it usually ends and to be honest, she's not ready to give up her heart and he's not ready to take it. At least she thinks he's not. That is, until the flowers start showing up.

It's a little embarrassing at first, walking into class and seeing a rose beautifully wrapped and placed in the center of her desk. The students point and whisper and a few of the girls giggle at the sight and she feels her cheeks go red and there goes her reputation. She can't deny that she likes the attention he gives her and she can't lie and say she doesn't feel a little disappointed every time there isn't a flower waiting for her. There's always a little paper tied to the flowers with a small smiley face and nothing else but she makes sure to text him one back so he knows she got it. Not that he wouldn't find out either way. He's got a little helper.

* * *

Beth doesn't mind. Really, she doesn't. She thinks it's a little weird though and she makes like she's gagging whenever he's talking on the phone with Rachel but he's not sure if it's because it's Ms. Berry her teacher that's making her feel a bit weird or if it's because he uses words like "babe" and "love". It's not his fault. He watches a lot of TLC these days, which was influenced in part by Beth, so if anything, she's to blame.

She's got a nasty habit of blackmailing him with embarrassing secrets when she wants her way these days.

"If you don't take me to the movies Saturday I might – whoops-"

"Beth, don't-"

"-might _accidentally_ tell Ms. Berry about your collection of-"

"Fine! Fine! We'll go! I hope the movie's terrible!"

It was.

He tapes the movie stubs to the fridge next to her elementary school drawings and report cards. It's a small victory in itself.

* * *

She's wearing a black dress and it hugs her curves perfectly and it contrasts with the red on her lips. He doesn't quite know what to do with his hands or his feet so he stays stiff as she approaches his car. Her hair falls in curves on her shoulders and he thinks he might have to drive to the cemetery after their date because she might just kill him with her beauty, although that might spell disaster for any future date plans.

"Why, hello there, Mr. Fabray." She gestures with a twist of her purse.

"Hello there, Ms. Berry." He responds.

"Don't you look dapper?"

"Don't you look stunning?"

It's a casual night out and it's not the first but he's still a little worried that this date will be the one where she realizes that she can do so much better than him and walk out. It's been… forever, actually, since he's met a girl who captured his attention as suddenly as Rachel did. He wants to impress her and sweep her off her feet but the moment she steps in his car, he knows it won't be that simple. Still, he decides to risk it and he lets her in the car and he thinks that although they're taking it slow, it doesn't mean that they won't make it. A part of him tells him they won't, but the way she smiles at him like he's the most amazing thing in the world tells him otherwise.

* * *

Flashes.

Memories come in flashes.

He remembers the bright lights above him and the doctor staring down with the cap and mask covering everything but his eyes. He can vividly paint the image of everything being blurry except for those rows of bright lights that kept him captive, staring him down like a million eyes. The doctor's hands gently massaging his shoulders, telling him to relax and allow unconsciousness to come, the way the nurse prepared surgical tools on a separate cart and the _clink clink_ of metal on metal, he remembers all of it.

And then nothing.

Then there's waking up to a white ceiling and a soft hand in his and looking over to see a small, blonde head resting on the side of his bed. There's emptiness on his chest but a full feeling inside of it and there's heaviness on his stomach but an empty feeling within it. He recalls picking up the young girl (despite the difficulty and possible dangers of) and placing her besides him and her fingers running cross the bandages running across his chest. And then there's her cuddling into his side and whispering, "Hi Daddy" and feeling so overwhelmed that all he can do is kiss her on the forehead again and again, and suddenly she's in his arms, eyes closed and crying, face scrunched and his lengthened hair falling and tickling her nose.

Two of the best moments of his life and they've somehow merged into one confusing memory.

Two of the best moments of his life, and he can only remember the before and after.

* * *

She's remarkably calm when he tells her. She's quiet and he feels the cold creeping in and he grows more and more nervous every second that passes.

"Does that bother you?"

"No, _definitely_ not. I was just thinking."

"Thinking of what?"

"I've always wanted to be a mother. I just think I've got the maternal instincts for that sort of thing. But you're something else."

"I mean, I'm not a mother if that's what you're implying. I'm Beth's _father_. Just, a different kind of dad."

"No, no, I'm not implying that at all. I just meant to say that you're incredible."

"I don't see how I'm incredible. I'm just, you know, being the best dad I can be."

"You don't see it but you're incredible, you know. You're a good man. You're a good father." She smiles and he feels warm again.

"I'm alright." He laughs.

"No, you're incredible. You'll see."

* * *

She's laughing when he first kisses her.

He said something funny or charming or both and she reacted in the way she always does at his jokes. There's probably a better time and place for a kiss but he can't stop the way he leans forward or the way he subconsciously licks his lips. It can hardly be considered his fault when there's a woman who's so intelligent and gorgeous right there in front of him. There's a scientific reason or _something_, he's sure.

It's because there's something gravitational the way she throws her head back when she's laughing really hard. Really, he should be given an award for holding out for so long but he knows she doesn't mind because she kisses him back with so much fervor that he's not sure who wanted it more. All that matters is that they both want it now and he loves the way she molds into him and how she breathes his name into the kiss.

All he knows is that he wants – no, _needs_ more.

She's happy to oblige.

* * *

"Ms. Berry gave me this."

He's happy his daughter's grown fond of his girlfriend but it catches him off guard when he struts into his in-home office and slams down a list on his table. Picking it up, he peruses it, making sure to read it a few times before looking up from the paper and raising an eyebrow.

"I don't get it."

"Dad, I'm going to be a singer!"

"What? This is a grocery list, Beth."

"No, the list has nothing to do with my _dreams_ Dad, geez. Ms. Berry just gave me that 'cause she noticed our fridge was pretty empty last time she came over. Keep up, will ya?"

"So what's with this dream thing?"

"Well, Ms. Berry heard me singing to myself after class and she told me I had a good voice, and she studied theater in college so she told me she'd be my vocal coach! For free! I mean if she made me pay that'd be a little weird since you and she are, you know, _doing it_ but I guess it's still pretty cool that she's offering to be my _vocal coach_! She told me I had star potential!"

"Beth, let's be realistic here."

"Realistic is boring, Dad. You should know."

It's scary for him to see his daughter so excited about something but he does agree she has a nice voice and when she runs out of the room with an extra hop in her step, he feels like maybe he should stop being like his dad and let go. Let the girl try and if it works, it will and if it doesn't, he'll be there to help her back up. He figures that's what a dad's supposed to do. Let his child dream and if dream falls, give her another.

A child should always be dreaming.

* * *

"Some of my favorite plays you can never understand completely, but you can begin to by reading them and performing them and living them over and over."

"Difficult reads?"

"Yes, exactly! But I enjoy that about them. There's something indefinitely more interesting. You learn something new about it every read."

"Strange, seeing that's the word I'd use to describe you."

"Strange? Should I be offended?"

"No, no, I meant interesting. You're interesting. I'm stuck between interesting and beautiful but I'll stick with the first."

"I'll pretend that wasn't a vaguely concealed insult."

"It wasn't! You keep me on my toes. I don't know what to expect from you and I don't think I do anymore. All I know is that whenever we're together I'm having the time of my life."

"You're too sweet, baby. I'll describe you then."

"One word. No verbs. Go for it."

"Noncommittal."

"So you're saying I can't commit to anything? Well, that's great to hear on a date from my already established girlfriend."

"No, no, not like that. Noncommittal – giving no clear indication about one's attitude or feelings. You're very... hard to read. Nothing bad, but you're like a story I'd like to catch up on. I'm very much taken by you."

"Am I?"

"Yes, you are, Mr. Noncommittal."

"Hm, alright then. I'll take it as a compliment. Think of me as your new favorite play."

She giggles and he goes back to making her scream his name like he's her favorite song and he wonders if the neighbors have noticed by now. (They have. They post a warning on his door the next day listing noise complaints and his only regret is that Beth finds the notice first. And reads it. At least he now knows how to simultaneously scar a young girl for life whilst giving her a premium blackmail document in one fell swoop.)

* * *

If wearing a freshly tailored suit to a high school musical is considered overdressed, he doesn't care. He's wearing his best Versace (the one his much-too-loaded law associate bought him as a Christmas present) and he's dressed to the nines. It's a bit weird to walk into a high school auditorium surrounded by fathers wearing yesterday's t-shirt and mothers wearing I-kind-of-tried outfits, but there he is all dressed up. It doesn't matter. He's not here for them.

The spotlight hits the stage and he's greeted to the sight of his daughter, sweeping her hand across the stage, and she's wearing something that belongs in one of those TLC shows she's always watching. Something about the high school budget. Everything is forgotten when she opens her mouth and sings her first song of the night.

Holy _fuck_.

He knew his daughter could sing. Hell, sometimes he wished she'd stop, but seeing her there, up on the stage, passion creasing her face and the light hitting her and the emotions dripping with every note, he's just as captivated as the rest of the audience. It's hard to imagine that this is the girl who was probably the number-one undisputed champion in the "Laziest Student" elections just a few months back.

He's still in a daze as the show draws to an end and he walks backstage to find Rachel hugging his daughter.

"So how was I, Dad?" She says it nonchalantly but he can see a hint of nervousness in her voice, and it touches him how despite all the pats on the backs she's getting and the good feedback she's getting from the audience, his opinion matters the most to her.

"Are you kidding me? You were, excuse my language but, fucking _amazing_ out there Beth!"

"Ha, it was nothing. Messed up a little but I guess it was okay." She shrugs.

Rachel leans over to give her another hug and Beth leans into her, smiling wide.

"Oh, hush darling. You were absolutely stunning. Now I'm beginning to wonder if it's _you_ that should be coaching _me_."

"Aw, come on Ms. Berry. You're like the best singer in the world. I'm alright." She blushes, gently pushing the older woman on the shoulder.

They both laugh but there's a small spark in his daughter's eyes that catches his attention and she looks up at him with that same nervous look. It reminds him that despite all the walls his daughter's built and despite the I-don't-give-a-fuck attitude she likes to throw around, Beth is still his little girl and his little girl is terrified of letting her father down.

"So are you're proud of me?"

"Beyond."

He doesn't think he's ever seen Beth smile so softly.

* * *

The first time Beth calls Rachel "Mom" is an accident.

It's a slip of the tongue and Beth turns red and scurries away with an excuse, but he sees the shock in Rachel's face turn into something that looks so much like happiness that he can't stop smiling too. She chuckles and there's a trace of sadness that she covers up, and he nudges her and kisses her on the forehead. God, he loves her.

"Your daughter is so cute." She laughs.

"Don't you mean our daughter?"

"Oh, stop it with the jokes."

"What jokes? I'm going to make you my wife one day."

It's said in jest but it's still a promise. He hopes she gets the message; he supposes the tears in her eyes are enough reason to believe she did. If there's one thing he's known for, it's for keeping good on his word.

* * *

He plans it with a few friends and it's supposed to be elaborate, with dancing and singing and all that fancy jazz thrown in there but he backtracks the last second and opts to take her out to the local park instead. Something tells him that she'd enjoy something personal and thoughtful rather than something elaborate and public.

They sit on a park bench for a few minutes after walking around and he coughs and strikes up a conversation.

"Remember that time you described me?"

"Yes I do, Mr. Noncommittal."

"How do I get that revoked? I'd like a change in description." He smiles.

"Sorry! No can do, Mr. Noncommittal. It's kind of a permanent thing."

"Really? I thought you'd prefer it changed."

"I don't see how it'd affect me." She smirks, kissing him on the side of his face.

"I'm not loving the sound of _Rachel Noncommittal_."

"What are you saying?" She laughs.

He reaches out and grabs her hand, pulling out the engagement ring he kept in his pocket and gently sliding it up her ring finger. There's a moment of silence as she gasps and he falls to his knees. He knows he's supposed to say something here. He even prepared last night with Beth, but the words fail him and he scraps the speech. He laughs at himself before talking again.

"I don't know, I think _Rachel Fabray_ has a better ring to it."

* * *

She's walking up the red carpet covered in white rose petals and she's standing in front of him, smiling widely as she always does. The pastor is saying things but he can't really hear them over the rushing of blood in his own head. She's wearing a wonderful white dress and he wants nothing more than to pick her up and rush out of the church and spin her around and kiss her until his lips bruise over.

He remembers everything leading up to this and he knows he'll remember everything after.

He remembers all these things in fragments, like pictures in a photo album, and he quickly sorts through each one as the pastor continues his rambling speech. There are so many moments leading to now and so many moments to come that he doesn't know what to make of it. But looking into the eyes of the woman he's grown so fond of, the woman he's about to make his wife, he feels his heart do that pitter-patter thing that confuses the hell out of him and he feels the jitters start in his feet. He feels like he's five again, crushing on the beautiful brunette in the next classroom over.

He wonders what the _fuck_ he's doing thinking about before and thinking about after when his mind should be here, standing in front of this gorgeous, amazing woman, brushing the tears out of her face and marking her his. The aisles melt away and all he sees is the beautiful girl in front of him and he leans forward and captures her lips.

Fuck yesterday. Fuck tomorrow.

He'll live now instead.


End file.
